Voldemort is Coming to Dinner
by krachum
Summary: Voldemort declares: “It is now time to bring the grey families into the fold!” Witness the struggle of the neutral Slytherin families through the eyes of Daphne Greengrass. Where do their loyalties lie and exactly how far will they go to survive? 6yr AU
1. Chapter 1

**The Declaration**

The war was not going well for the resident dark lord. His return had not been welcome even by his formally most loyal servants. Somehow, in the years between his disappearance and his return to power, his followers had discovered the merits of peace and prosperity. For over ten years, those who had evaded capture had enjoyed manipulating the government and events to their advantage to comparatively little cost to themselves or their families. Only his inner circle, who had been most fanatical back in the day, had resignedly and fearfully returned to him. Voldemort knew that they did not welcome him back. Some had even grown to wish he would never return. As his widespread support had all but vanished and as the majority of those who had been inclined to commend him from a distance had turned their backs and knotted their purse strings, Voldemort was in the unique and unprecedented position of lacking funds.

It took money and resources to wage a war, he did not wish to expend the energy and time of his minions on petty theft. It lacked dignity and undermined their respect for him. In any case, few prizes were worth the taking besides the formidable Gringotts bank and even he was not so brazen as to anger the goblins. Any attempt would be doomed to failure and would herald the end of his efforts. Though many of his followers belonged to rich old pureblood families, their resources were not infinite. The Dark Lord suspected that Malfoy resented the use of his family's capital. A shade of reluctance had woven itself into his deferring posture. The Malfoy's wealth had been greatly diminished in the previous war and Lucius had spent the last years once more building it into a fortune to humble kings and buy out parliament. The most severe crucios within Voldemort's power could not humble the man, one who shared so completely in his belief of wizarding supremacy. It would not do. Funds would have to be taken elsewhere.

Voldemort violently squashed a spider that had slowly been creeping over the cracks on the window sill as he had stood silently brooding. Outside, it rained lightly as if the clouds would part at a whisper. The extensive gardens of the Lestrange summer house were lush with bloom and vigor. The once carefully tamed beds, which were as straight and morose as the head of the family, had profited from their owner's absence and now spread across the grounds in irreverent freedom and life. That is what the country had become in the Dark Lord's absence, and he would not let it take hold.

Voldemort promised himself that he would rip their comforts and their freedoms and their joys from them. That they ever dared consider themselves liberated from his presence was an affront. Of course the mass breakout from Azkaban had helped his cause, yet it was not enough. There was hope, the Dark Lord could smell its nauseous presence everywhere. They had been rid of him once, if temporarily, there was hope they could do it again. Potter's escape from the Department of mysteries had been a fiasco, his inner circle held off by a few fifth years. If he hadn't desperately needed their support, Voldemort was certain he would have taken great satisfaction in executing them himself. As it was, an unprecedented campaign of terror was needed that he might once again confirm his status as history's most powerful Dark Lord in the minds of all. Yet, this would necessitate healthy finances.

The Dark Lord turned suddenly away from the window. His own spectral reflection had seemed to mock his preoccupation with such mundane matters as money. His continued existence would rely on an effective strategy. A slow building of momentum would not serve him well, all would have to be done quickly before the purse of his followers ran dry. Those who had been condemned to Azkaban were now of little use as their access to Gringotts had been restricted. They all now relied on the fortunes of the few lucky enough to escape conviction. It would not last.

After more silent reflection, Voldemort walked down the gothic hallways of the mansion. He entered the main dinning hall. His follower Bellatrix sat calmly at the end of the table, gleefully caressing her wand. At the sound of his entrance, she looked up from her reverie.

"Master," Bellatrix intoned respectfully, bowing her head. "May I be of use?"

"I am calling a general meeting," he replied. "I have chosen our course. All that we wish will soon come to pass. Terror shall reap the land as never before. Give me your arm."

As Voldemort pressed his finger on Bellatrix' arm, he knew that he would be successful.

OoooooooooooooooO

Once again, the Dark Lord stood surrounded by his Death Eaters, their fear and loathing coursing through their veins. For once, he did not care. In the stagnant air of the Lestrange dungeon he observed them coldly. Confidence that they would soon be brought to heel and would again worship him as a god, thanking him as they rushed to the deaths he chose, calmed him. He found it difficult to believe that mere hour before, he, Lord Voldemort himself, had been preoccupied by such minor concerns as monetary resources.

"My loyal Death Eaters," Voldemort rasped into the silence that caught his every word. "The time has come for action. No longer will we hide from the world. They will come to respect up as they ought and remember their lawful place. I am pleased to announce that the demetors are joining our cause…"

Half-hearted cheers momentarily interrupted his speech before he silenced them with a wave of his hand.

"I am aware many of you do not welcome such allies, having been tormented yourselves during your time in Azkaban. However, would you wish us to loose such an opportunity for revenge out of mere personal preference? I assure you that they will not harm you or your own. With what we offer, they dare not oppose us. As they spread fear and hopelessness, we will accompany them with random attacks and destruction throughout the country so that no one may feel safe. As well, I will personally take care of Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She has opposed us long enough."

The interest of his Death Eaters was slowly being aroused and at this announcement a few chuckled darkly in amusement. No one could manipulate his followers better than the Lord Voldemort, offering and ensnaring their interest, coaxing them into a murderous frenzy.

"Our success is within our reach. We will carry out mass muggle killings if Minister Fudge does not step down and accept our dominance!"

The thrilled laughter was unmistakable; the mood of the room had shifted to bloodlust. Though many still hung back, realizing that all this would be difficult to accomplish considering their small numbers, success was not a given.

"This brings us to the most important part of the plan; nothing will succeed without it," Voldemort declared knowing that everyone's attention was riveted to his next words. "Many grey families have so far eluded their necessary allegiance to our cause. Their inaction weakens us. It is imperative that they be brought to our side by the use of persuasion, threats, or even force if necessary."

"Avery!," the Dark Lord snapped. "I charge you with making our cause known to the Bulstrodes, the Flints, the Warringtons, the Zabinis, the Macdougals, the Parkinsons, the Joneses, the Montagues, the Nigelluses, the Skeeters, the Davises, the Greengrasses…"

And as the list went on, the Dark Lord knew that with so many families and so many ancestral fortunes at his disposal, he could not help but succeed.


	2. Chapter 2

**A Family History**

The proud and noble line of Greengrass was not in fact sired by a man called Greengrass. It started with Pete. The rest would only begin posthumously.

Back in the year 1068, a man going by the name of Pete the Fishmonger was ousted from his home on the coast of England by invading Norman forces. Pete was a man of a contrary sort. Having from his childhood stunk of fish entrails, he had understandably been avoided by the other peasants of his village. As he had never seen a human other than his father without their nose scrunched up against the smell, he had adopted that expression in perpetuity in order to fit in. Over time he developed a hatred for his means of living and as armies rode through the village he took it as a sign it was time to move on.

Pete the Fishmonger walked for many days. At each village he passed the reception was the same, everyone fled from his odor. Yet, it never occurred to him to take a bath. So Pete walked on, confident that he would one day find a place of acceptance. He walked down roads, through forests, round in circles and ellipses. He walked through sunshine, through rain, through hail and wind. But Pete the Fishmonger did not walk through snow.

One morning Pete crawled shivering from under his mass of dirty blankets and stared in dismay at the snow covered ground. He hated it. He despised it. He refused to walk in it. So Pete decided to stay right where he was.

Had Pete continued his journey, it is likely the fish smell would have eventually worn off and he would have settled down to a normal peasant life. But the Fishmonger had stopped on the edge of a glen and there he would remain. Seasons passed, the smell wore off and Pete built himself a home in the glen. He sold the creatures he caught to a nearby village. He was proud they called him Glenn-dweller. Pete was unaware of his magic and never understood the villager's awe of him. His foot never caught in sinking mud and the slanting house that he built remained above the water. He eventually married a poor woman with few prospects and continued to be proud of what he had accomplished.

OooooooooO

A hundred years later, Pete's descendents, few as they were, continued to live in the glen until one day a child was invited to Hogwarts. Liza the Glenn-dweller was wild, illiterate, quick to anger, and in the spirit of her forefather did not know how to take a bath. She did much to harm the perception of Muggleborns while at school but being in Hufflepuff she graduated just the same. Over the course of those seven years, thanks to the threat of the removal of such a bounty of school food, her head of house was painstakingly able to shape her into a competent witch though she continued to be a miserable human being.

Liza returned to the glen as snobbish and ornery as they come. She married the local blacksmith's son who was terribly impressed by her gentile speech and silken robes. Their first fight was on their wedding night. Why it was not sooner, one can only speculate. Perhaps it was the result of the hurried courtship (lasting a total of three days and two minutes) that was pushed through by the bride's mother. The blacksmith's son was terribly confused when he was blasted out the second story window and spent the entire night wading around lost in waist-high mud.

It was in this fashion that the first year of their marriage passed by. After being roundly insulted, the people of the village took to calling her Liza Green-weed. Eventually, the blacksmith's son caught on to the fact his strange misfortunes happened whenever his wife adopted that certain sneer on her face. Simple he may have been but he was not stupid. He attempted to retaliate by arguing but whenever this occurred, Liza would simply turn him into a chamber pot for a few days. Through this hell of resentment and fury, the decided Slytheriness of the line was born as any child had to learn independence and a certain degree of manipulation if they had any hope of surviving their negligent mother.

Over the years, the name Green-weed was turned to Greengrass; the glen was dried and fertile green fields took its place; the nearby village was depopulated; and Liza was forgotten. The magical line held strong through blood feuds and sibling rivalry. They created themselves a history that began with a proud French wizard and forgot the fishmonger. They built themselves a castle, before tearing it down to build a barn, then a mansion. A few were upwardly mobile and married well; many were not and eked out their lives in toiling poverty. Thanks to their changing circumstance and to a certain streak of wildness that resurfaced every few generations to alienate the family from polite wizarding society, the line was saved from the dangers of continual success.

OooooooooO

Daphne Greengrass, the 37th generation of Pete the Fishmonger's proud line, was presently lost in the forest.

She was also drunk.

She was very, very drunk.

Daphne giggled as she bumped into a tree. Muttering "Pardon me, miss," she tottered away waving her arms unsteadily. Stumbling over a root, she fell into a patch of ferns. She lay there face down for a few second before rolling over clutching a bottle of firewhisky to her chest.

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, hoggy warty Hooogwarts, teach us bits of fluff and stuff, scabby knees… brain rot… we're all old and baaaaaaald!" she sang at the top of her voice, conducting an invisible orchestra with her fingers and wiggling her toes. She giggled some more but continued to lay there smiling into the darkness.

It was three o'clock in the morning and Daphne was returning from the annual bring-in-the-summer debauchery. It had started when her uncle went to Hogwarts, he and a few of his friends had taken to skinny dipping at midnight when let out of school. The idea had spread so that it was now a well-established tradition among Hogwarts' old families.

Millicent had been there, as well as Blaise and Tracy, Goyle too surprisingly. He wasn't too bad a sort when he wasn't hanging out with Malfoy. There'd also been quite a few Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs Daphne couldn't quite associate names to right then. Pansy of course hadn't shown, she considered herself far too dignified for such an event. Many of the most influential families rarely participated anyway. Daphne couldn't quite understand why, getting roaring drunk on firewhisky, swimming, and singing was such fun.

At the back of her mind, a niggling feeling told her she was supposed to be remembering something. She though hard for a few minutes but couldn't come up with anything so she masterfully concluded it could not have been of any importance. After a great many tries and the help of a nearby bush, Daphne managed to heave herself back to her feet. She stood swaying wondering vaguely where the party had gone before setting out at an uneven pace.

After a couple hours, having somehow lost the firewhisky bottle along the way, Daphne slowly began to retrieve her lucidity. This unfortunately came at the cost of a head splitting headache. She found the birds so loud!

"Shut up…" Daphne whined covering her ears with her hands. "Shut it I say!"

Suddenly Daphne remembered what she was supposed to be doing: getting home! She looked around herself in concern. Her house was only half an hour away from the lake, she should have stumbled upon it by now. She also had to get cleaned up before her parents got back from their business trip to Paris in the morning. The sudden surge of adrenaline created a clear priority. Daphne knew with certain and total clarity her parents were going to kill her, or at the very least ground her for the rest of the summer.

She managed to find her way back home by the break of dawn. Despite her uncoordinated movements and pounding headache, she managed to climb over the gate and limp her way to her bedroom window.

She shook it fiercely a few times but couldn't seem to open it. She had just let go in confusion when it opened of its own volition and the head of her older brother looked out.

Emil Greengrass had graduated from Hogwarts' with honors three years previously. The Ravenclaw was a quiet soul and could not have been more content than at his spell research and development job. He was usually assumed to be mild mannered and gentle. This could not be mistaken as one of those times.

"Daphne! Where in the name of Merlin's filthy underpants' have you been?" Emil snapped. "Here I am left in charge of the house and my dear middle sibling decides to take off gallivanting in the middle of the night without so much as a by your leave. What were you thinking! Are you drunk?"

He unceremoniously reached through the window, grabbed the front of her robes and dragged her in. By doing so, he noticed her damp hair and clothes. A look of understanding passed through his eyes.

"Ahh…" he smirked. "Skinny dipping in the lake is still in is it?"

Daphne nodded shamefacedly, not trusting herself to speak.

Her older brother laughed quietly. "I should probably escort you to the kitchen to await the parental firing squad. But that would be rather hypocritical of me wouldn't it?" he winked at her astonished expression before adopting a business-like manner. "We'd better make sure they don't find out then. Dry yourself off, I'll go get you a pepper up and an anti-hangover potion. For goodness sake, charm that smell away you reek of firewhisky!"

"Thanks Emil!" Daphne mumbled at his retreating back as she grabbed a towel and shut the door. She thanked her lucky stars for having a brother she got along with most of the time as she put on her p-jays. Her parent would never buy her being dressed before eleven o'clock in the morning during the summer in any case.

Daphne had been cradling her throbbing head in her arms a good ten minutes before Emil put the hangover potion firmly down in front of her. He then took a seat across the dining table and they sat in companionable silence as she finished it off.

"In my day, the first summer party didn't last all night," Emil said.

She answered the unasked question. "I, uh, kind of got lost in the wood."

Her brother snorted. "There's a rather large path leading from the lake. It's paved and a good, oh, eight feet wide, and only a mile and a half long as I recall."

Daphne scratched the back of her head. "That's not really the point though is it? I somehow managed to get lost anyway."

"Where did you get lost?" called a small voice from the bottom of the staircase.

Daphne gulped, sent a warning look at her brother, before turning around to address her nine year old sister who would be attending Hogwarts in two years time. "Nowhere," she said trying to come up with a plausible lie as quickly as she could. Her sister was renown for refusing to let go of a question until she was satisfied. She would undoubtedly be another Ravenclaw to the Greengrass name. "I got lost in an Arithmacy problem during my final exams. Emil was trying to explain it to me."

Daphne had all her fingers crossed under the table but her sister Roane appeared to have bought it as she sat down and reached for a fresh cinnamon bun their house elf Figgler had just provided. Of course she would, Daphne though glumly, everyone knew she was barely passing the subject as it was.

The three siblings ate casually discussing their summer plans. Thing were getting rowdy as Roane had just thrown a roll at her brother in retaliation to his tickling when their mother and stepfather walked in. The mood of the room immediately turned somber and the laughter died on their lips.

"Roane!" shrieked their mother. "That is not acceptable behavior for a pureblood. Emil I though we had left you in charge to guide your sisters away from such abhorrent behavior! I am disappointed in you Emil. I though you could be trusted. You are obviously incapable of taking care of a flobberworm never mind a pureblood witch!"

As his mother tore into him, Emil's eyes glazed over. Daphne felt her chest constrict. The business meeting in Paris had obviously not gone well and her mother needed to let out some steam. She hated seeing her mother crush her sibling's spirits but there was little she could do at the moment. Of her family, only she had been endowed with a certain "screw you!" attitude that allowed her to completely disregard pretty much everybody when it suited her.

Slytherin to the bone is what her father used to call her before he died attempting to de-ward Stonehenge. It had been nine years but she still missed him sometimes, he had been kinder than her mother. Her stepfather, a runes expert, wasn't too bad though. He didn't really try to interfere in their lives and was always handy when one had trouble doing Runes' homework. Though she didn't consider him a father figure per se, Daphne supposed she accepted his presence. Merlin knows how he put up with her mother though. How such a harpy managed to snag brilliant men she could never guess.

"Daphne!" her mother's abrasive voice managed to get through, dispelling her thoughts. "I have a garden party to prepare. Get dressed! Try to be elegant for once, these are our longstanding family friends, we wouldn't want to make a bad impression! And fix your hair, it's a frightful mess!"

Daphne squared her shoulders, downing the rest of her coffee. It was going to be a very, very long day if her mother's continuous nattering about centerpieces and whatnot was anything to go by.

**Reviews are appreciated be they positive or negative. I'm trying very hard not to beg... So please Review!**

**AN: I know OCs can be annoying but Daphne Greengrass didn't come complete with family in canon. I must do what I must.  
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